devotion is for the weak of mind
by Nanaho-Hime
Summary: No matter how many times she scrubs her hands she can still feel him whispering into her palm. LucyLorcan for a Challenge


-devotion is for the weak of mind-

By Nanaho-Hime

For s i l v e r a u r o r a's Persistence in Futile Challenge

Disclaimer: I own nothing

Song Listened to while writing? What If by SafetySuit

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_i._

When Lucy is small she plays castle up in the attic, with her Grandmother Kate's old dresses. There is box upon box of strings of pearls and silver heels, and cream colored dresses with lace on the collar. Lucy _loves it_. She is the princess up in the attic, and that crown of glitter and yellow paper belongs on her head. And sometimes everyone plays along because she's the baby and she's adorable (and everyone spoils her rotten).

Lucy grows up (it's inevitable), but she never does take off the crown.

(which is a shame, really, because, you know, those paper crowns? they tend to rip.)

_ii. _

When she arrives at Hogwarts she is sorted into Slytherin, and it's not so much a surprise because Al got there first, and she's not one to really stand out. It turns out they don't take very kindly to princesses at Hogwarts. It's a shame, really, because Lucy (still) isn't ready to give up the crown.

Hogwarts is a struggle from day one. Lucy is haughty and Lucy is proud and Lucy is intellectual (sarcastic may be a better word). There are Princess Lucy of Narnia jokes, and other not so nice ones, but Lucy doesn't care because she is _so _above the petty insults of jealous peers. Her best friend is, Nora Nott, and Nora is all the company she really needs. Her cousins still talk to her because they're used to her, and she's the only girl on the Slytherin Quidditch team and that's all that really matters.

She's not wounded when she gets snubbed by others, because, honestly, she's Lucy Weasley and to be hurt by such frivolous sentiments is _so_ beneath her.

(**really**)

_iii._

Lorcan Scamander asks her out _every single day_ for _three years_. She hates it (him) and the publicity he brings with him. It's no secret that Lorcan Scamander and his band are going to be the Wizarding Music Industry's next hottest group, and it's no secret that Lorcan Scamander is mildly aesthetically pleasing (she will _never_ call him attractive) with his pale eyes and his dark hair and his crooked smile. Everyone hates her because, Merlin, every girl wishes Lorcan Scamander would just look at them, and she gets him and she doesn't want him (and that's just pure insanity).

She rejects him _every single day_ and not kindly either. She shows no mercy and her flimsy semblance of popularity decreases every time Lorcan has to walk away, looking dejected. No one can understand why someone as affable and as charming as Lorcan would like someone as frigid and as snide as Lucy. Lorcan won't explain the infatuation to his collection of fans, and Lucy doesn't quite understand the border line obsessive crush either. All she knows is that she's become particularly talented at saying 'No, Lorcan'.

(It's almost a habit now)

_iv._

"Lucy?"

She inwardly groans, as the tall musician takes the seat across from her, "What do you want, Scamander?"

They are in the library, and although Madame Pince has retired years ago, the no speaking rule is still strictly enforced. To put it simply she has no desire to receive a detention for having a heart to heart with Lorcan in the library.

"Why won't you date me, Lucy?"

He looks pitiful with his hair in his grey eyes, and he seems to wilt under her steady gaze. Lucy has long ago learned to remain impassive when speaking to him. His eagerness and his lovesickness make him prone to over exaggerations, and, Merlin, she hates drama.

"You know my policy, Scamander," she responds evenly, returning to her charms essay, "I don't date musicians."

Of course they both know Lucy has no such policy. She refuses to date Scamander point black for several reasons, though his knack for music is not one of them.

"I'll quit music."

Lucy shakes her head in disbelief. She doesn't understand his complete and total devotion to her. She is perfectly aware that it is undeserved and he is perfectly aware that she does not reciprocate that devotion, and to give up one passion for the other is absurd and impractical.

"Go away, Lorcan."

He shakes his head stubbornly, a frown on his face. He tilts his head to the side and his brow furrows in concentration.

"You know, most of the songs I write are about you."

She curses the flush on her cheeks at his words. There is embarrassment and exasperation in her eyes and why can't he understand that she doesn't want love songs? She doesn't want complete and total and unconditional love. She wants practicality and convenience and quiet understanding, none of which he can offer her.

"Lorcan, go away," she stresses in her frustration.

"Not until you go out with me."

She rolls her eyes, and returns to her essay. He'll give up soon enough.

She can feel his eyes on her as she works on the essay and he makes it very difficult to concentrate. She knows that she is still pink in the face, and she know that he can see that she's pink in the face and it's so very annoying.

He's still there when she finishes the Charms essay. It's dark outside, Madame Linea is eyeing the clock impatiently, and he's sleeping on the table, his head resting on his arm.

"Scamander," she hisses, shaking his arm.

Lorcan grunts and turns away from her.

"Scamander," she repeats, a little louder. She receives nothing but a glare from Madame Linea.

She sighs, what should she care if he spends the night in the library? He's the stubborn fool who refuses to leave her alone.

Lucy gathers her books, and the scrap pieces of parchment. She doesn't leave right away, rather, she hesitates. He looks so sad, even in his sleep and she feels just the tiniest twinge of pity for him. Tentatively, she reaches out a hand to his hair.

"Lorcan," she whispers, "wake up, Lorcan."

Immediately, Lorcan has grabbed her hand, and she dully notes that he was probably pretending to sleep. (She curses herself for being a damned fool).

Lucy is rooted to the spot, and she can't bring herself to wrench her hand away. He's straightened up, and he's holding her hand loosely in his own.

Lucy finds her voice, "Let go, Scamander."

He ignores her, bringing her hand to his lips and then all of a sudden he's let go and Lucy is fleeing the library, berating herself for her moment of awestruck stupidity.

(No matter how many times she scrubs her hands she can still feel him whispering into her palm)

_I love you, so much._

_v._

He has detention for the next two weeks, but he still makes time to go see her and beg for a date.

She doesn't know why he has detention for the next two weeks, but Lysander seeks her out to explain.

"Do you know why he's got detention?"

Lucy shrugs her shoulders in disinterest. Lysander purses his lips, because he doesn't particularly like the youngest Weasley girl. It's not her personality; they probably would have been good friends had she not been constantly breaking his brother's heart.

"Some guys made some…er rather risqué, rude comments about you."

This is nothing new, she is pretty and she is hated, risqué and rude comments are not rare.

"Well, to put it bluntly, Lorcan beat the crap out of them, punched Allan McLaggen in the face, you should have seen it, 'twas brilliant."

Lucy doesn't look at him, and Lysander sighs in exasperation. He doesn't want to believe that his brother is in love with a frigid girl, but she doesn't seem to have any sort of feeling for anyone and it's rather disheartening.

"You know, Lucy," Lysander is angry, "it sucks being in love with someone and not having them love you back. I've been in love with Lily for years, but she only sees Teddy, and it hurts, damn it, because she doesn't even know I'm alive, but…but I'm subtle about it, I'm made of tougher stuff, I can deal with it. Lorcan's not like that. Lorcan doesn't have a filter, he says everything he's feeling and he feels it times one hundred, he loves you so much and he just wants to be with you, you know?"

Lucy keeps her eyes on her book, unmoving, "He doesn't love me, Lysander."

"I can't believe, that after everything, you still think this is some sort of game." Lysander offers her a look of disgust before marching out of the room.

_vi._

Sometimes Lorcan just likes to sit and talk with her, when she'll let him, and he's the happiest man alive. She'll laugh and speak civilly and he'll ache a little bit, but he'll know that she's exactly what he thinks she is.

(and, oh god, he loves her)

_vii._

Molly and Nora are under the impression that she should just give in and date Lorcan. Lucy brands them traitors, but their logic is fairly solid.

"Lucy," Nora sighs, "we know why you won't date him."

Lucy rolls her eyes, "Do you, now?"

Molly nods, "You don't think that he really loves you."

Lucy snorts because that's what she's been saying for years. She's graduating next month and her sister's visit would, of course, revolve around the drama that was the Lucy/Lorcan fiasco.

"He loves you Lucy," Nora responds from her place in front of the mirror.

"Sure."

Molly sighs, "Why don't you think he loves you?"

Lucy's never been asked this question before and she hesitates before answering.

"Because he's like a little kid, he doesn't even know me, there's nothing to fall madly in love with, and I don't want anyone's pity, but that's the point."

Molly is looking at her sadly, as though she's said something worth crying over.

"Since you won't believe your sister, believe the friend who doesn't give a rat's arse about your feelings," Nora runs a brush through her long, blonde hair, "There are plenty of reasons to fall madly in love with you and Lorcan Scamander sees every single one of them."

(it's scaring her, but maybe she's starting to believe them)

_viii. _

He's waiting on her doorstep in the pouring rain. His dark hair is plastered at twenty different angles, and he's wearing nothing but a t-shirt and jeans, and he looks ridiculous. (and she can't believe that he'd wait for her like this and it's been _three years_ of fucking rejection and you'd think that he could take a _hint_)

"Lucy, will you go out with me?" he asks, his hands shoved in his pockets.

"I don't believe this!" she screams, opening her door and ushering him inside her small cottage in the woods (because she'd do anything to get away from him).

"Why are you doing this?" she's crying and she doesn't even care anymore. She's wiping at his face with a dish towel, and he's looking down at her as though fascinated, "Why do you love me? There's nothing to love, there is nothing that warrants this devotion."

He reaches up a hand to tentatively brush tears off her cheeks and his next words are unexpected, "You are a fucking fraud, Lucy Weasley."

She's a little shocked, because they are the harshest words he's ever said to her.

"You like to pretend that you're an ice cold bitch, but you're not, you're funny and smart and you stand up for the little guy, and you like to dance to the radio when no one is in the room, and you'd die for anyone of your family members, and your few friends mean the world to you. You're sarcastic and a little abrasive and you're blunt and you don't give two flying shites about anyone else's opinion and you're a princess who still wears her crown, and you are so, fucking, beautiful especially when you cry."

She is stunned, and when he leans down to kiss her, she kisses him back.

_ix._

Lucy Weasley doesn't wear her paper crown anymore.

(Because gold rings? they last longer than paper crowns)

_the end_

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A/N: This was a doozy to write, but overall I'm happy with the results.

Please don't favorite without reviewing…remember reviews keep the author going :)


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